


i'm drunk with you

by kangtv (galacticnik)



Category: HOTSHOT (Band), JBJ (Band), Produce 101 (TV)
Genre: (if you squint), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ha Sungwoon (mentioned) - Freeform, I AM A MESS, I wrote this really quickly, M/M, Yoon Sanghyuk (minor), implied past Noh Taehyun/Ha Sungwoon, it's a mess, taehyun is also a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 06:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12270975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galacticnik/pseuds/kangtv
Summary: Kenta walks into Taehyun's bar and turns his life upside down.





	i'm drunk with you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kenta (takadatv)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/takadatv/gifts).



> title taken from like a flower by black6ix. i wrote this _really_ quickly so forgive the messiness. self-edited as always!

It is still early in the evening when Taehyun meets him for the second time—8 pm, which feels like mid afternoon in the bar business. The only people around are despondent housewives, teachers who need to get up early in the morning, and old grandfathers who don’t want to (or can’t) head home yet. Not the sort of clientele that requires his complete and undivided attention, and it isn’t supposed to get busy for a while yet. His focus is instead on polishing the shot glasses behind the counter when he hears a voice say, “Hi, Taehyun.”

Taehyun looks up to see the guy from his cousin’s wedding leaning on the counter, looking impossibly small and out of place in the bar. He’s dressed in a flashy red sweater and lopsided blue beret, auburn hair curling around his face. His mouth is drawn up in a smile, but Taehyun's gaze flits over the bruised lips and the restless fingers that pick at the stray threads on his sleeves. Taehyun nearly demands to see a piece of ID then and there before deciding that he _doesn’t want to know._

He was never supposed to see this guy again.

The guy is still looking at him, head tilted slightly to the side, giving Taehyun an unnecessary glimpse of his smooth, pale neck. “Taehyun?”

Taehyun slaps the dishtowel down on the counter and reaches for the 1979 Glencadam on display. “Oh fuck,” he says, uncapping the bottle and taking a swing. 

 

—

 

It’s a classic wedding reception story.

Sort of.

As a tragically and annoyingly single guest without a plus one, you go to a wedding and try not to doze off during the ceremony, hit the open bar immediately afterwards and get shitfaced, embarrass all your lame family members and the other guests by tearing up the dance floor, and sneak half the amount of wedding money you were going to give the happy couple back into your pocket because _fuck you_ , that’s why (and you’re bitter).

At the end of the event, you find some guy with a pretty little mouth to suck you off in the back alley of the wedding hall because fuck if there’s no time to do anything else and it’s a _wedding_ , this shit happens. You don’t exchange numbers or names or even talk to him besides a breathy, _fuck yes_ , because there’s etiquette to this stuff. It’s like, it’s like the equivalent of making out with someone at the back of a club for five minutes before they have to go throw up in the bathroom or something and disappear for the rest of the night. It happened. You move on.

When you’re done, you zip up your jeans and say, “Thanks,” or “See you around,” and leave before the guy can ask you anything (like, “who are you?”).

Then you go back to your normal life and forget everything about the wedding.

Or try to.

 

—

 

Taehyun barely makes it through a quarter of the expensive whiskey before he remembers he shouldn’t drink on the job. And this stuff burns on the way down, but that is a different complaint. He busies himself with filling the bottle up with water so no one can tell he took a swing of it, then grabs the dishtowel again and begins furiously wiping down the counter to avoid looking at the guy. When he finally does sneak a glance, the guy is perched on a stool and watching him with wide eyes.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Taehyun says finally. He doesn’t want to ask how the guy knows his, or how he knew to find Taehyun at this location. Some things are best left a mystery, for his own sanity.

“Kenta,” the guy says cheerfully. “Takada Kenta.”

He’s Japanese. That explains surprisingly little, like what he is doing here or why he is looking at Taehyun like he knows him intimately—which he does, in a way. His dick, at least. Or maybe there’s just something on his face and his mind is lying somewhere in the gutter. He rubs his nose with the back of his hand and coughs to diffuse the awkwardness.

“You need something?” Taehyun asks finally, shaking his head clear. Not the time or place to think with his dick. “Probably going to need to see your ID first if you want a drink, though.” Kenta looks like a fucking kid. _God_ , Taehyun thinks, _how_ old _is he?_ He assumed he would be better off not knowing but—God, this is messed.

Kenta fidgets and looks down. “I was looking for you,” he says. His voice is sweet, thick with a musical accent. Taehyun is slightly stressed. “I… um, at the wedding, I—”

Oh shit. _Shit_. Post wedding etiquette dictates that you don’t talk about what happened. Ever. This is why less information shared is always better; you can avoid messy conversations with your sloppy hookups days later if they don’t know who you are or where the fuck you come from. And yet, despite the odds, Takada Kenta has somehow tracked him down.

“Look,” Taehyun says quickly. Better nip this in the bud. “It was just a brief thing, yeah? No need to take it seriously. I’m not interested in—”

Kenta clears his throat. Taehyun falls silent as Kenta pulls something out of his pocket and sets it down on the counter with great care. “I found your watch. I just wanted to return it, that’s all.” He brings his hands back and drops them into his lap. His mouth curves into a smile, entirely innocent. “You are very cute, but I’m not interested either.”

“Oh.” Taehyun deflates. He picks up the watch and turns it around in his hands, feeling foolish for panicking and jumping to conclusions. Brushing his thumb over his name engraved on the back, he pockets it and turns to Kenta, who stares at him with pursed lips. There’s something heavy about his gaze, like he’s trying to pick Taehyun apart. It’s an odd contrast with his appearance. “Thanks for this. I’ll give you a drink on the house if you want.”

He expects Kenta to reject his offer, but the man plucks an ID card out of the wallet he unearths from the depths of his sweater. Taehyun heaves a sigh of relief when he sees the 1995 birthdate in the corner. “Do you have any sake?” Kenta asks, tapping his fingers on the counter.

Taehyun hands his card back. “I’ll take a look and see what we got.”

 

—

 

_I’m not interested either._

Hours later, Taehyun wonders, _why the fuck not._

 

—

 

Kenta shows up at the bar again a week later.

Taehyun tells himself not to read into it. They’ve established that neither of them is interested in dredging up shit about the past. Kenta is probably here because this place is close to where he lives, or the route is familiar to him, or because he hopes Taehyun will give him another free drink (he won’t). That’s it. There is absolutely no reason for Taehyun to feel an unholy combination of apprehension, nerves, and excitement.

Like last time, Kenta asks for a bottle of sake and sits at the counter. He’s dressed in yellow today; it’s too bright for a dingy, run-down bar like Taehyun’s, and some of his regulars stare too hard and too long at the man. Taehyun glares at them when Kenta’s attention is somewhere else and they look away. Once Kenta is nursing his drink and flipping through a Korean workbook, Taehyun breaks one of his cardinal rules and strikes up a conversation.

“So,” he starts, pretending to study the label on one of their new wines. “You know the bride or groom? From the wedding.” The question has been bothering him for some time. Neither his cousin nor her husband answered any of Taehyun’s questions about a _Kenta_ when he texted to ask.

Kenta pauses and rests his chin in his hands. “We… dated,” he responds with a wince. He adds something else in Japanese under his breath, and Taehyun’s brows furrow in confusion.

“Which one?” Must be a ‘lost in translation’ thing.

But Kenta grins, and it’s blinding. “Yes,” he says firmly.

Taehyun waits for more. Kenta sips his sake, legs dangling off the stool, looking like a middle schooler who managed to trick a dumb bartender with a good fake id, and part of that is probably true—the dumb bartender bit. Something tells Taehyun that he really doesn’t want to know more of this story. “Cool,” he finally chokes out.

Kenta’s smile widens.

 

—

 

He doesn’t actually spend a lot of time thinking about Kenta

Sanghyuk teases him about it over dinner. “Pretty sure your denial speaks volumes, man,” he says with a shit-eating grin. Taehyun chases him around the apartment for half an hour before jumping on his back and forcing him on the ground, where he proceeds to rub Sanghyuk’s face against the floor until he relents. “Fine! You don’t want to fuck the Japanese dude. Whatever.”

“It’s. Complicated.” Taehyun grinds out, leaping off him. “It’s just—you know, one of those things.”

Sanghyuk slowly gets up and drags a hand down his face. He looks unconvinced, but doesn’t ask for an explanation.

 

—

 

“Why are you always here?” Taehyun asks after the fifth night Kenta strolls in, a heavy backpack slung over one shoulder. He wordlessly drops it on the counter and climbs onto a stool, pulling out a box of Pepero to munch on while Taehyun hunts for his usual drink order.

“Hmmmm.” A Pepero stick hangs from his mouth, drawing way too much of Taehyun’s attention to his lips. It was the thing he first noticed about Kenta, even through his drunken haze after the wedding. He has to blink and shake his head like a wet dog to push those memories away. “I believe… your face is comforting?”

Taehyun’s face grows warm. “What the _fuck_ kind of reason is that,” he grumbles. His heart does an odd somersault as he pours Kenta a cup and slides it over to him. Their hands brush against each other’s, maybe by accident, maybe on purpose, and Taehyun bangs his knee against something in his haste to move to the other end of the counter.

He ends up waiving Kenta’s tab at the end of the night. Taehyun is generous, not in love or thinking with his dick. _Generous._

His hands are on fire for the rest of the night.

 

—

 

They sink into a comfortable routine.

Taehyun starts looking forward to Kenta’s arrival on Wednesdays and Saturdays. Sometimes Kenta skips the Wednesday visit, but he’s always there on the weekend, ordering his usual sake with a different book open in front of him each time. They don’t talk much, but Kenta’s warm presence helps the night go by a little faster. He stays there for a couple of hours, then packs up his things and always says ‘bye’ in Japanese before disappearing into the night.

In spite of his stubborn refusal to ask Kenta anything about himself, Taehyun learns a couple of things: Kenta’s alcohol tolerance is only a glass and a half before his cheeks start getting rosy, he scrunches up his nose and bites his lips when he doesn’t understand something, he laughs with his whole body when he finds something (even the tiniest thing!) funny, he speaks way too quickly when he’s excited, and he wants to date Ricky from Teen Top—or _be_ him. Taehyun is still not sure on that one.

When he thinks Taehyun is not looking, Kenta will glance over at him with something and nothing in his eyes at the same time, and Taehyun will pretend not to notice because he shouldn’t search for meaning in Kenta’s stolen glances. They’re not anything except strangers who met by chance—acquaintances now, but they can’t be more than that. They just… fucking can’t.

Taehyun is forced to face the fact that Sanghyuk is right; he does spend a lot of time thinking about Kenta. He just doesn’t know why.

(On the list of lies he tells himself, that is #1).

 

—

 

Kenta is late.

Taehyun is not worried. He _does not_ worry. If you imply he’s watching the clock and waiting for Kenta, he will deny it. But he’s jumpier and more distracted than usual, flinching every time the door opens and it’s not Kenta entering. He doesn’t know when the other man became such a fixed feature at the bar, but without him the place feels empty.

When Kenta finally does come in, Taehyun smiles instinctively. “Hey,” he says, a little too loudly to just be casual. “The fuck happened to you? Where have you been?”

“Around. Sorry.” Kenta’s smile is half-hearted. His runs a hand through his hair before letting his arms fall to his sides, looking more lost than the first day he walked in here. Taehyun waits for him to take a seat, but Kenta doesn’t move.

“I picked up that brand of sake you were going on about the other day. You’re welcome.”

Kenta says nothing.

“Want a taste?” Taehyun tries again, desperation bleeding into his tone. If Kenta is having a breakdown, Taehyun doesn’t know what the fuck to do. He’s not good at emotional shit. He can barely deal with his _own_ emotions.

After a long pause, Kenta sighs. “What are we doing?” he asks finally. On closer inspection, the lines around his eyes are more pronounced. He looks stressed and tired, dark circles sticking out even in the dim lighting. “I want to get to know you better, but I don’t know how to anymore.” He digs his knuckles into his cheeks and looks away. “I like you, but you’re so…”

Taehyun swallows and grips the edge of the counter, knuckles white. He thinks the same thing. He relates, but fuck, he’s not that kind of a guy. He doesn’t _do_ that. Instead of an explanation, what pours out of his mouth is, “I thought you weren’t interested.”

“I wasn’t,” Kenta admits. His mouth puckers. “But I didn’t come back here for the drinks!” He sounds frustrated. Taehyun has never seen him like this before, and it’s weird. Fucking weird. _I’m not worth getting riled up over_ , he wants to say, but Kenta is not finished. “I was just, lonely, I think, and you were familiar, but—”

“Sorry.” Fuck. _Fuck._ Why can’t things ever stay as they are? Taehyun leans forward, and closes his eyes. “Sorry. I really am, Kenta. I’m just not into relationships you know?” Another lie he tells himself and others, but a successful one. People believe it, anyway. Some days Taehyun believes it too.

Kenta is silent once more, and for a second Taehyun thinks he walked out. Then he feels a touch on his hand and opens his eyes to find Kenta’s face dangerously close to his. He stops breathing. “I guess I understand,” Kenta murmurs. Up close, Taehyun notices how pretty his eyelashes are, the gentle slope of his nose, the light dusting of freckles. He wants to kiss him. Taehyun wants to fucking kiss him so bad. “I wasn’t looking for a relationship either,” Kenta continues. “Just some comfort—and I thought you were warm.”

Taehyun licks his lips as Kenta pulls away. “Goodbye,” he says, in Korean this time, and walks out. Kenta doesn’t look back. Taehyun doesn’t watch him leave.

 

—

 

_It was a wedding thing._

Taehyun is not interested in Kenta or anyone outside of the alcohol induced haze and the fucking _loneliness_ that comes with knowing everyone in your life is paired off and you’re, well, alone. _By choice_ , Taehyun reminds himself. It’s by choice. He doesn’t know why that matters, but it’s a goddamn choice.

Sungwoon called it a defense mechanism, once. “You’re so afraid of fucking things up that you isolate yourself from people who could care about you. You don’t even give them a _chance_.” Granted, he yelled it in the middle of a fight before storming out of Taehyun’s place, and then they broke up. But it stuck with Taehyun throughout the years because it’s true.

More recently, Sungwoon told him, “Give yourself more credit.” His eyes were kinder, and it felt like acceptance, or forgiveness, and Taehyun remembers that well too.

He doesn’t know if he can change. Doesn’t know if he’s capable of it. But God if he doesn’t feel like he’s missed out on something, like he’s lost the possibility of something, and God if he doesn’t look for Kenta every time the door of the bar opens.

God if he isn’t disappointed when it’s not him every single time.

 

—

 

Weeks pass before Kenta comes to the bar again.

Taehyun briefly entertains the idea of going looking for him, but he doesn’t know a damn thing about Kenta when it comes down to it. Not where he lives or where he goes to school or where he hangs out outside of this bar. Their relationship—whatever it is—is contained within these four walls. That’s kind of fucked up; he should ask more questions, regardless of what rule it breaks.

He cares about Kenta. Wants to, anyway. Wants the opportunity, and these basics are things he needs to know.

The door opens, and Taehyun looks up out of habit while mixing a drink for the ladies’ night out group of forty-somethings crowded around the counter. The cocktail shaker almost slips out of his hands when he makes eye contact with Kenta, who gives him a small, tentative wave and lingers by the exit, fidgeting.

 _Shit_ , Taehyun thinks, then decides that he doesn’t have time for this. Shoving the shaker at one of the women and ignoring her protests, he vaults over the counter and rushes up to Kenta. 

“ _You,_ ” he breathes, a split second before grabbing Kenta by the collar and slamming his mouth against his. The kiss is sloppy, rushed, forceful and desperate all at once. Kenta’s lips are spicy, his hands weakly grasping the front of Taehyun’s shirt, and the soft gasps and shouts around them don’t fucking matter right now.

Kenta is the only person who does.

Taehyun pulls away, chest heaving. “I’m an idiot,” he says frankly. Kenta’s red cheeks remind him of strawberries, he thinks. “I’m a fucking idiot who doesn’t have any explanations for you. I just have this: I want to start over.”

“You want me to give you a blow job in a back alley again?” Kenta says, and Taehyun stares at him for a long moment before narrowing his eyes. Did he—? It shouldn’t be surprising, but Kenta tilts his head downwards and a curl falls into his eyes, and he looks so sweet-faced that Taehyun is confused.

“ _What_.”

“I’m not all innocent, Taehyun.” Kenta hides his laughter behind a hand. Taehyun continues to look at him in surprise. “But… I want that.” His eyes soften, and his hands move down to grasp Taehyun’s own. Giving them a gentle squeeze, Kenta continues, “I want to start over.”

“Okay.” Taehyun swallows. This shit ought to come with a manual. “Okay. Uh. Here we go. I’m Noh Taehyun. Twenty three. I’m a bartender. I like fast cars and I can krump.”

Kenta laughs openly this time and tugs him closer until Taehyun is practically pressed up against his chest. “I am Takada Kenta, twenty two years old. I came to Korea from Japan for university, my major is in the fine arts, and I like Teen Top.” He pauses, his eyes crinkling. “I also like small and cute things, like you.”

“ _Hey,_ ” Taehyun says sharply. He’s not that small. But he’s less offended than is his happy. It’s an all-encompassing feeling that begins in his belly and spreads outwards. _He could get used to it,_ he thinks. He’s interested in seeing where it goes, at least, with Kenta by his side. 

Taehyun looks over his shoulder at the bar and the group of women who are currently mixing their own drinks and cheering them on. “You want to stay for a drink?” he asks, turning back to Kenta.

“No,” Kenta says, leaning down for another kiss. A hint of a smirk dances across his lips. “I want to stay for you.”

 

—

 

Taehyun names a cocktail after Kenta months later: the _Strawberry Sailor_.

“Wow,” Sanghyuk comments. “Now that’s a fucking commitment.”

“Fuck off,” Taehyun says affectionately.

It kind of is.

**Author's Note:**

> a spiritual successor to [tell me what you want](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11729448). you don't need to read it to understand this at all, but in my mind, this fic follows the events of that one chronologically. 
> 
> for moose, who has been way too nice in enduring all my emotional kentae fangirling. this is not the gift-fic you deserve so just, uh, wait for me. wait till your birthday! 
> 
> honestly, i still don't know what i'm doing but i tried! thanks for slogging through this mess ❤


End file.
